Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason's Corner Folks eBook

As they neared the Poorhouse Quincy turned to Huldy
and said, “The Jim Sawyer who has been at the
Eastborough Poorhouse for the last five years is my
father’s brother and my uncle. His story
is a very sad one. I will tell it to you some
day. He is in the last stages of consumption,
and I am taking Miss Miller over to care for him while
he lives.”

Huldy nodded, and nothing more was said until they
reached the Poorhouse. Quincy jumped out and
called to Sam, who was close at hand, to hold the
horse. Sam looked at him with a peculiar expression
that Quincy did not stop to fathom, but running up
the short flight of steps entered the room that served
as the office for the Poorhouse. Mr. Waters was
there writing at his desk. He turned as Quincy
entered.

“How is my uncle?” asked Quincy.

“He is better off than us poor mortals,”
replied Mr. Waters with a long-drawn countenance.

“What do you mean?” asked Quincy.
“Is he dead?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Waters, “he died
about four o’clock this mornin’. Sam
sat up with him till midnight, and I stayed with him
the balance of the time.”

“I am so sorry I was not here,” said Quincy.

“It wouldn’t have done any good,”
said Waters. “He didn’t know what
was going on after two o’clock, and you couldn’t
have been of any use if you’d been here.
If ’t had been daytime I should have sent over
for you. He only spoke once after I went upstairs
and that was to say that you would see to buryin’
him.”

“Yes,” said Quincy, “I will take
charge of the remains.”

“Well,” remarked Mr. Waters, “I
called in the town undertaker and he has got him all
ready.”

“When does the next train leave for Boston?”
asked Quincy, taking out his watch.

“In just twenty minutes,” Waters replied,
looking up at the clock.

“I will be back from Boston at the earliest
possible moment,” said Quincy; and before the
astonished Waters could recover himself, the young
man had left the room.

Quincy jumped into the team, grasped the reins, and
started off at full speed for Eastborough Centre.

“My uncle died this morning,” said he,
turning to Huldy, “I must go to Boston at once
to make the necessary arrangements for his funeral
He is to be buried at Amesbury with his wife and children,
so please get word to Mr. Pettengill that I shall
not be home for several days. I will get some
one at the hotel to drive you home, Miss Mason.
Only stern necessity compels me to leave you in this
way.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” said
Huldy. “I am perfectly confident that I
am able to drive this team home all by myself.”

“I never can consent to it,” said Quincy.
“If anything happened to you, your father and—­”
Huldy glanced at him. “I mean,” said
Quincy, “I should never forgive myself, and
your father would never forgive me. Your arm
is still weak, I know.”

“My arm is just as good as ever,” said
Huldy. “The doctor told me it wouldn’t
break in that place again. Besides, Mr. Sawyer,”
she said, as the hotel came in sight, “I shall
drive back just the same way we came, and there are
no hills or sharp corners, you know.” She
laughed heartily and added, “I shall enjoy it
very much, it is part of the comedy.”